


Deep Within

by Everyday_Im_Narrating



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alters, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Fluff, Frotting, Gentle Sex, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Selfcest, Teasing, desolate verse, did, fluffy sex, handjobs, this does not make sense unless you've read Desolate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 14:03:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18852535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyday_Im_Narrating/pseuds/Everyday_Im_Narrating
Summary: Damon is never truly gone. Sometimes, in Stiles' dreams, they meet. And talk. And even get to do a little more than that.-(Set in the AU created by the brilliant Vague_Shadows in her fic Desolate.)





	Deep Within

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Desolate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/752931) by [Vague_Shadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vague_Shadows/pseuds/Vague_Shadows). 



> This fic literally does not make a lick of sense if you don't know the story it's based on, but you can still come in and read for the porn and fluff if you're one of those people. (No judgement, I totally am one of those people too.) So, if you're just here for the feels or need a quick refresher, let me catch you up: after being kidnapped and horribly abused, Stiles develops DID. One of his alters is Damon, who carries the memories of the pack that hurt Stiles so he doesn't have to deal with them. It's a whole thing. Also he's married to both Derek *and* Isaac, because polyamory, my dudes.

Ever since the ritual, Damon isn’t exactly gone, but he takes a comfortable seat in the back of Stiles’ mind and never really resurfaces. Sometimes it’s a close call - when Stiles is sad or scared, or very sleep-deprived - but even then, Stiles manages to get a grip on himself before Damon has to step in, and he’s so proud of him. Proud of them, really.

 

He watches enough memories to know the bare bones of what’s been happening in the pack’s life, but the only time he can really interact with Stiles is through dreams. Every now and then, Damon will find himself waking up, and sure enough, if he looks around the house or the pond or wherever he happens to be, he’ll find his own face looking back at him, surprised but not displeased.

 

(It never fails to trip him out. There’s _two_ of him. Damon never had a childhood, and even Stiles doesn’t have any siblings; he wonders with some amusement if this is how identical twins feel when they look at each other.)

 

When these encounters happen, they’ll usually sit together somewhere and talk, their hands linked or one of their faces resting on the other’s hip. Damon likes the closeness maybe even more than Stiles does, and they both benefit from this kind of casual, innocent touch that’s only physically possible in Stiles’ dreams. This particular time, though, it’s different.

 

It’s different because he wakes up in the living room, dressed only in his own boxers and Derek’s t-shirt, and when he goes up to the main bedroom to find Stiles, the guy is… Well. Naked on the bed. Looking remarkably happy about it, too.

 

“Is this a bad time?” He asks as a reflex, only then realizing the absurdity of the question. He’s literally in Stiles’ dream right now.

 

“Damon! My man.”

 

He chuckles. “You’re not wearing any clothes.”

 

“Oh, yeah, I noticed that. Does it bother you?”

 

Damon thinks for a moment, then shrugs. It’s not like he’s never seen that body before, anyway; it is literally his own.

 

How Stiles carries it, though, is remarkably different. He’s so much more confident than Damon is, and so much less quiet, less still - it shows in every little bit of his body language, and Damon can’t stop noticing the small differences. For example, Stiles is lying face down on the bed with his head braced on folded arms, only instead of lying still like Damon would, he constantly shifts around, crossing and uncrossing his ankles or wiggling his ass to get more comfortable.

 

Fascinating.

 

Hesitating slightly, Damon sits on the edge of the bed, still not sure if he should be here in the first place.

 

“You’re usually clothed when we meet.” He remarks.

 

“You’re showing up in the middle of a dream, though. Like, _right_ after the juicy bit.”

 

“The juicy bit?”

 

“Sure you want me to tell you? ‘Cause you can’t un-know once you know.”

 

Curiosity gets the best of Damon, and he comes closer, makes himself comfortable next to Stiles’ naked figure on the bed. It’s actually kind of pretty to see, however vain it may be of Damon to find his own body beautiful - it has less to do with aesthetics and more to do with how happy he looks, how there isn’t an ounce of tension on his shoulders even splayed out in an extremely vulnerable position. Stiles is laying like that because he’s entirely safe in this environment, and isn’t that a nice thought all on its own?

 

“I’m sure.”

 

“In that case…” Stiles grins. “Derek and Isaac just fucked all the coherence out of me, dude.”

 

It still baffles Damon that this is a good thing. The idea of anyone actually _enjoying_ sex - and yet he knows that Stiles does; they’ve had a lot of conversations about it, both through notes before the ritual and in Stiles’ dreams after. Still weird. And yet he’s still very, very curious.

 

“Sorry, you asked.” Stiles looks embarrassed at Damon’s reaction, or lack thereof. “You okay?”

 

“Yes, Stiles. I’m just thinking.”

 

“Alright. Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

 

Damon takes a few seconds to try and put his thoughts into words; it’s easy with Stiles. They are, after all, more or less the same person. When the words do come out, his face feels warm.

 

“Is it fun?”

 

“What, sex with Derek and Isaac? Or sex in general?”

 

“I meant the first one, but have you done it with other people besides them? I mean. That you wanted to?”

 

“Well, no.” Stiles admits. “But most people agree that sex in general is pretty fun.”

 

Damon nods.

 

“But with them?”

 

“Dude, with them it’s awesome. Derek’s mouth, I swear…”

 

“His mouth?” Damon isn’t going to make images in his mind. It’s disrespectful. Derek is his Alpha, and Alphas don’t suck their betas’ dicks, for fuck’s sake. And yet Stiles is here implying they do.

 

“Don’t get me wrong, Isaac too. But Derek is on a whole new level, I swear. I wonder if I can show you some memories so you can really get the full picture - I mean, if you even want that. Please let me know if I’m freaking you out.”

 

“You aren’t freaking me out.” Damon responds promptly.

 

“Then can I give you some memories?”

 

“Does it work even if you’re not an Alpha?”

 

“We’re dreaming, dude.”

 

“Good point.” Damon chuckles. “Please, go ahead.”

 

Damon moves in closer and politely looks away when a very naked Stiles sits up; maybe there’s no point in it, but it feels appropriate. Next thing he knows, Stiles is lacing their fingers together, steadying him, and his other hand is sinking sharp claws into the back of Damon’s neck.

 

His vision goes dark, then it fades into soft daylight peeking in through the bedroom window.

 

He’s lying on his back on the same bed, only instead of Stiles, it’s Isaac and Derek who are there with him. Isaac claims his lips with a kiss - slow but deliberate, with nothing innocent about it - and Derek… Derek is straddling his thighs. Kissing his way down Damon’s - Stiles’ - chest and stomach. Damon doesn’t remember ever being this turned on before, and what he’s experiencing is just a memory; even more when Isaac stops kissing him for a moment and he locks eyes with the Alpha. There’s clear affection there, so much that Damon doesn’t even know what to do with it, but also, Derek looks _smug_. Like he knows exactly how good he’s about to make Damon feel, and _loves_ it.

 

Then he wraps his lips around the red tip and starts sucking, and Damon is startled right out of the memory by how intensely his body reacts.

 

He opens his eyes to the sight of Stiles holding back laughter and his own boxers tented at the front. Stiles’ claws have pulled away from his neck, but his hand is still there, petting Damon’s hair; he’s readjusted his position so he’s curled against Damon’s side, and it’s wonderfully sweet, but Damon has never experienced this kind of genuine arousal before and now he wants to do something about it.

 

(He doesn’t know what, exactly. But _something_.)

 

“Stiles…” He lets out, quiet and unsure; Stiles answers with his lips brushing against the shell of Damon’s ear to make him shiver.

 

“Do you wanna try it?”

 

He does. It might be overwhelming. He might change his mind. But right now, he wants to try. Stiles hasn’t changed his position, and he seems to have mistaken Damon’s delayed response for hesitation, because his tone is softer when he speaks again.

 

“This is a dream, Damon.” He punctuates the words with a small kiss right beneath Damon’s ear. “There’s nowhere you’re safer than right here. Even if you get scared, the worst that can happen is we just wake up.”

 

And if he wakes up, he’ll be in the back of Stiles’ mind again, safe and comfortable with his pack. He’ll be fine. They’ll be fine. Holding his breath for a moment, Damon nods, and just to really confirm it, turns his head to press a small, sweet kiss to Stiles’ lips.

 

It’s Stiles who leads, like he does in every other situation. Their mouths fit together perfectly - it’s more intense than Damon thought was possible for a slow kiss like this; he goes along willingly, eagerly, letting Stiles position him how he wants to. That’s how he ends up sitting on Stiles’ lap, still clothed, with Stiles’ hands on his waist and a mixture of embarrassment and excitement flooding his chest.

 

“This is so weird.” Stiles comments, breaking some of the tension and making Damon laugh. “I’m touching you. But you’re also _me_. Is it super narcissistic of me to think you look fucking gorgeous like this?”

 

Damon can feel his cheeks grow hotter at the praise, and when he ducks his head, Stiles leans in for a kiss that has his heart fluttering. Meanwhile, his hands are still hanging limply at his sides, because as it turns out, he has no idea what to do when it comes to actual, mutual, _consensual_ sex. Doesn’t even have a fucking frame of reference. It’s why he’s so grateful that Stiles seems to know exactly what he’s doing, his hands all gentle and careful when they stroke up and down Damon’s sides.

 

“You’ve been so good to me, Damon.” He whispers. His face lingers close, leaning in to press soft little kisses up Damon’s neck. (Damon _melts_. He wants to stay like this forever.) “You helped me carry all the weight I wasn’t strong enough to handle. Let me show you some of the awesome stuff I get to do now, all because of you.” He sucks at a surprisingly sensitive spot, causing Damon’s mouth to drop silently. “You took care of me, let me take care of you too.”

 

“Yes, Stiles…” He lets out in a quiet breath. “What… What do I do?”

 

“You just relax. And if something doesn’t feel good, or if there’s something you want, you’re gonna tell me.”

 

He can do that. He can let Stiles touch him and just enjoy it. Stiles is a part of him - more accurately, _he_ is a part of _Stiles_ \- and wouldn’t hurt him, and even if he does, Damon can just wake up. He’s safe here. Safe and comfortable on Stiles’ lap, with Stiles’ hands sneaking under his shirt to lay both palms on his chest.

 

Stiles maps out a body he knows entirely; it’s his own, after all. For exactly that reason, he seems to know Damon’s every sensitive spot and makes sure to touch them all, with his fingers or lips or both. Behind the ear. His whole neck in general. His nipples, where he soon discovers that a light touch will send a shockwave straight down to his dick. Fingertips teasing their way up his inner thighs, as far as his boxers will allow it, then underneath the fabric too; when Stiles gets closer to his cock but doesn’t actually touch it, Damon _whines_.

 

“Let me hear you, it’s okay.” Stiles whispers. Damon didn’t expect it to encourage him, but it does, and he finds himself not holding back his voice so much when Stiles continues to tease over the bulge in his boxers with a feather-light touch.

 

“Stiles…”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I’m -” He doesn’t know how to complete the sentence, but fuck, he’s hot all over. Stiles is barely touching him, yet it feels unbelievably intense; when Stiles’ hand finally presses up against him, he has the strongest urge to just _grind_ on it. But he doesn’t. He’s a good beta with good self-control. What he does is press his face into Stiles’ shoulder and breathe hard and fast against it, inhaling his scent - Damon’s own scent, and yet not, somehow.

 

“You okay?”

 

Damon nods, at the same time as Stiles slips a hand into his boxers, wrapping loose fingers around his dick. And it’s good. It’s really fucking good. But it’s also starting to bring up memories that have no business meddling with something as wonderful as what he’s experiencing right now, so he gathers up all his courage and shakes his head.

 

Stiles, of course, understands. His hand pulls away, but his body stays pressed up against Damon’s, nose tracing the column of his neck.

 

“I’m glad you’re being honest.” His voice is still so soft and sweet, it makes Damon all warm inside. “What do you need?”

 

“I think… I think I need something to do.”

 

Stiles pulls away slightly, and Damon would be worried, but he seems to just want to make eye contact. Eyes identical to Damon’s look at him with more concern and affection than he’s ever felt for himself.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean… Maybe if you told me to do something. To keep my head focused.”

 

“Damon, we don’t have to do this if you don’t feel like it. This is a dream, we can do whatever we want. Whatever we _both_ want, got it?”

 

He knows. He’s safe with Stiles. They’re quite literally one and the same.

 

“I want to do it. It feels nice. Really, really nice. I just have to… Think less.”

 

“And if I give you a task, it’ll help you think less?” Stiles confirms.

 

“Hopefully.”

 

Stiles nods once, and the next thing Damon knows is his lips are being claimed again, in a kiss that’s deliciously soft. It melts away Damon’s worries, slowly but surely, and when Stiles’ hands return to his thighs, he’s back to full hardness in his boxers.

 

“So here’s how it’s gonna go.” Stiles punctuates it with a kiss, and just as predicted, Damon’s attention is immediately on his words. “When I get my hand on your cock, you’re gonna move your hips for me.”

 

“Move my hips. Like this?” Tentatively, he rolls his hips once, the front of his boxers just brushing up against Stiles’ entirely naked erection. The sound it brings out of Stiles goes straight to his groin -  _he's_ making Stiles feel good. This is  _his_ doing. He's the reason Stiles' face is pink and his voice is deliciously hoarse.

 

“Yeah, yeah, like that. I- can we take this off?”

 

Stiles points to his boxers, and _yes_ , they can. Damon is very much in favor of getting more of that deliciously intimate kind of contact. He fumbles a little with the clothes, and seconds later he’s only in Derek’s t-shirt, entirely bare from the waist down as he settles back on Stiles’ lap.

 

When Stiles resumes touching him, he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. It’s almost frustrating - his hands are gentle and careful on Damon’s shoulders, chest, thighs, giving him just a taste of what his body wants, and while it’s good to soothe his nerves and wash away any bad thoughts, it also makes him unbelievably needy. It doesn’t take long for him to be breathing heavily and pressing up even closer to Stiles, who seems to be thoroughly enjoying the situation.

 

“You’re being so good, baby.” He loves the pet name. And the praise. And the brush of Stiles’ thumbs over his sensitive nipples, making him gasp. “Look how pretty you sound when I’m touching you.” Stiles punctuates his words with a breathtaking kiss. “Look how hard you’re making me.”

 

He glances down and his face immediately heats up - Stiles really is hard, glistening at the tip; Damon’s cock looks exactly the same. In a move he truly wasn’t expecting, Stiles pats a hand around the bed until he finds a small bottle of lube, and _where did that even come from?_ It’s a dream, but somehow Damon is more surprised by the sudden appearance of lube than he is by him and Stiles inhabiting separate bodies.

 

And that’s his last coherent thought, becauese then Stiles is drizzling a generous amount of lube onto both their dicks and wrapping both hands around them, spreading it from tip to base in one quick move that leaves Damon breathless.

 

“Damon…” Stiles sounds almost as affected as him. “Remember what I told you to do when I had my hand on your cock?”

 

He can’t remember much of anything now that his blood flow isn’t exactly prioritizing his brain, but it kicks into gear after a second.

 

Right. Moving his hips. He can do that.

 

The moment his hips start rolling, it’s like there’s a direct connection between his dick and his throat; the sounds that escape him are high-pitched and continuous and entirely involuntary. He’d be self-conscious about it if it weren’t for how much it seems to spur Stiles on.

 

“Fuck, baby, just like that. Keep fucking my hand. You’re doing so good, don’t stop.”

 

He’s not planning to. Everything is hot and slippery and he’s unbelievably sensitive, wave after wave of sensation going all the way down his body every time his cock drags against Stiles’ in the tight heat of his hands. When Stiles presses gentle lips to his neck and suddenly _bites_ , his orgasm catches him completely off guard.

 

Stiles follows soon after, so soon that Damon barely has any time to register the oversensitivity. The high subsides, but they stay put, catching their breath together; when their eyes meet again, Stiles has a lazy smile on his face and sticky hands on Damon’s hips.

 

“Good?” He asks, although his face indicates he knows Damon’s answer already.

 

“Perfect.”

 

“Next time someone tells me to go fuck myself, I'm gonna blush and it'll be your fault.”

 

Damon laughs. Stiles’ sense of humor is something weird and silly and completely different from his, but he appreciates it nonetheless; it makes the moment wonderfully light-hearted.

 

That is, until Damon starts feeling a very familiar tug in the back of his head.

 

“I think you’re gonna wake up soon.” He mutters. “I’m getting that feeling.”

 

“Stay with me 'til I do.”

 

He will, of course. But he’s also feeling blissed out enough that he can be brave and ask for one last thing.

 

“There’s actually something else I wanted to try. If that’s okay. I don’t even know if it’s possible, or if you’d be okay with it, but - can I ask?”

 

“Damon, of course you can. Lay it on me.”

 

He climbs off of Stiles’ lap and curls up close to him, hiding his face in Stiles’ neck as he speaks.

 

“I want to be the one to wake up. Not - not for the whole day. Just for a little while, then we’ll go back to sleep and you’ll take over again. Can we do it? Is it even possible?”

 

Stiles thinks for a moment, just enough time for Damon to start getting nervous that maybe he crossed a line, but they’re still pressed close together and Stiles’ hand is still resting gently on his hip, so he can’t have messed up _too_ bad. Finally, he speaks.

 

“What if we can’t switch back?”

 

Damon frowns.

 

“I only ever feel the pull to come out when you’re upset. Or exhausted. You’re lying in bed with Isaac and Derek, right? So you’re well-rested and happy.”

 

It’s the whole reason Damon even wants to take over for a while. To be squished in between his Alpha and his Second - his _husbands_ \- and just bask in that feeling for a little, see what Stiles gets to experience whenever he wants to.

 

“You know what, you’re right. We can do that. I’ll take over when you fall back to sleep, yeah?”

 

“Yes!” Damon nods emphatically and pulls Stiles into a hug, heart thumping at the prospect. He’s going to wake up in bed with his husbands. To so many people it’d be such a small thing to be happy about, but to Damon it’s huge, something he never even thought he could have. “How do we do this?”

 

“I think we have to switch places. Where’d you wake up before you came here?”

 

“In the living room.”

 

“Right. So I’m gonna go to the living room, you stay here, and let’s see if that works.”

 

Before they let go of each other, he gives Stiles one last squeeze, and then a moment later he’s alone on the bed, grinning to himself with excitement.

 

The pull is getting stronger, right at the back of his head, making him dizzy. This time, he just lets it happen and prays it’ll work.

 

His vision goes dark again.

 

The next thing Damon registers is that being in charge of an entire body again, after so much time in the backseat, is a little overwhelming. Instead of experiencing the world through what he can get from Stiles’ memories, he’s now hearing with his own ears, smelling with his own nose, and would be seeing with his own eyes if they weren’t closed, which is entirely on purpose. He doesn’t want Isaac or Derek to know he’s awake; Stiles let him take over, sure, but he’s perfectly happy with it just being their secret. So he keeps his eyes shut, lies as still as he possibly can, and concentrates on taking in the sensations one by one.

 

Isaac’s scent hits him first, then the rhythmic sound of his breath, seemingly sound asleep. Damon can tell by the warmth that the Second must be lying close to him, probably close enough that if Damon moved his hand, he could touch him. He doesn’t, though; not yet. Mostly because now that he’s located Isaac, he can focus on the faint smell of shampoo coming from right beneath his face; it’s unmistakably Derek, also sleeping peacefully, with his head resting on Damon’s chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

 

(Maybe it is for Stiles. That’s a nice thought. He gets to wake up every day next to the two people they love the most.)

 

Once he’s sure both of his husbands are asleep, he can open his eyes. There’s barely any moonlight peeking in through the window, but it’s enough that he can see Isaac - mouth open, hair sticking out in a funny way, looking a little silly and entirely relaxed - and his heart _swells_. Even more so when he feels Derek sigh in his sleep and snuggle a little closer, like it’s a reflex for him to want to be close to Damon.

 

And it is, isn’t it? Because they trust him, perhaps just as much as Damon trusts them. Neither of them is stupid or naïve - Damon knows that he and Stiles, together, have earned that trust fair and square.

 

He knows he should go back to sleep and let Stiles take over again, but it's hard to fall asleep when he's busy beaming with pride.

**Author's Note:**

> Tooth-rotting fluff because Damon deserves it. That's it, that's the fic.


End file.
